Slow Song
by Seekerfemmedraca
Summary: Ratchet stresses, and Wheeljack calms. Rating for hints of slash and a cussing Ratchet.


Slow Song  
  
"Primus damnit!"  
  
Wheeljack gazed into the office of his bondmate. Currently Ratchet was trying to finish his reports for the day. As if to deliberately thwart his efforts, Blaster was blasting heavy rock music in his quarters three doors down.  
  
"I swear, the next time that mech comes in, I'm going to set his audio sensors so that anything louder than a whisper blows them out."  
  
Wheeljack chuckled as he entered, shutting the door behind him. The action shut out some of the noise, but not all.  
  
"You know that won't happen. You're too nice."  
  
The CMO pointed his stylus at the engineer menacingly. "I dare you to say that again."  
  
"Or what, you'll poke me to death?"  
  
"You know I can." The medic grinned.  
  
"And the sad thing is that it is true."  
  
Wheeljack shook his head as he turned to one of the consoles embedded in the wall. Ratchet went back to the herculean task of the reports, grumbling about Blaster's choice of music as well as the volume at which he chose to listen to it.  
  
The Lancia typed in a few keywords and started scrolling through the list his search came up with.  
  
As of late, Jazz had joined in the music downloading movement. The Porche had installed iTunes onto Teletran 1 (much to the chagrin of Prowl) and had acquired at least three thousand songs since. How he paid for them Wheeljack didn't know, but he was sure that Jazz had his ways. Jazz had made his collection a public file, allowing any of the Autobots access to his playlist. The engineer was currently examining that list, looking for...  
  
"There you are," he murmured at the screen as he selected the song.  
  
The sound of a piano filtered through the speakers in the room. Soon the sound of a bass guitar intertwined with that of the piano.  
  
Ratchet looked up at Wheeljack, a strange expression on his face. It changed to amusement as he listened to the first part of the lyrics.  
  
i Music has charms, they say  
But in some people's hands  
It becomes a strange beast  
Can't they control it?  
Why don't they hold it back? /i  
  
Ratchet put down his stylus and got up, walking over to Wheeljack. He paused for a moment, deciding, before placing his hands on the other's hip struts. The engineer caught on quickly and placed his own hands on the medic's shoulders. They started to move in a teenagers' version of a slow dance, a slow rocking, spinning motion.  
  
i You see my friend and me  
Don't have an easy day  
And at night we dance, not fight  
And we need the energy  
If not, the sympathy  
But I'm brutalized by bass  
And terrorized by treble  
I'm hopin' to change my mood  
But I always get caught in the middle  
And I get tired of DJs  
Why is it always what he plays  
I gonna push right through  
I gonna tell him to  
Tell him to play us  
Play us a slow song  
Play us a slow song  
It's late, I'm winding down  
Am I the only one  
To want a strong and silent sound  
To pick me up and undress me,  
To lay me down and caress me?  
I feel you touch my hand  
And whisper in my ear  
Ask me how I'm feeling now.  
I want to get near you  
But I can't even hear you  
So this is a fine romance  
If we have to be so demanding  
We need just one more dance  
To leave here with an understanding  
And I get tired of DJs  
Why is it always what he plays?  
I'm gonna push right through  
I'm gonna tell him to  
Tell him to play us  
Play us a slow song  
Play us a slow song  
And I get tired of DJs  
Why is it always what he plays?  
I'm gonna push right through  
I'm gonna tell him to  
Tell him to play us  
Play us a slow song  
Play us a slow song /i  
  
As the music ended, the pair moved apart. Ratchet gazed at Wheeljack, his expression a lot more relaxed.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Wheeljack, though lacking a mouth, conveyed a smile through his tone. "What are partners for?"  
  
Ratchet's face went from relaxed to leering. "A whole lot more than just a dance."  
  
Wheeljack's optics flashed. "But what about the reports? Didn't Prowl..."  
  
The medic cut off the Lancia with a wave of his hand. "Prowl can kiss my shiny metal aft. Now come on. Unless you wouldâ€¦"  
  
It was the engineer's turn to cut the other off. "My quarters?"  
  
Ratchet once again leered at his bondmate as the pair left the office. In their preoccupation with each other, neither noticed that the music that had started it all had stopped.  
  
Fin


End file.
